Page 103 of Men in Shorts

Evan kept his eyes on Fergus, who was placing the ball on the corner arc. “At some point.”

With no time to reply, Colin squeezed between a pair of midfielders to reach his place at the far post. He raised his arm to signal his position to Fergus, hoping their captain would deliver one of his beautiful inswingers straight to Colin’s head—assuming he could even see him through the deluge.

Fergus struck the corner kick. Colin jumped to meet the incoming ball, but the East Fife midfielders crunched his body between them in their desperate attempts at interception. The ball struck the crown of Colin’s head, pinging over the top of the goal.

Colin landed hard with his opponents. One of them slipped in the mud, taking the trio down in a pile. As they tumbled, a sudden pain ripped Colin’s gut, and for an instant he was back on Frederick Street on the nineteenth of September. Down again. Stabbed again.

No.Colin rolled off the other lads onto his hands and knees, where he stayed, digging his fingers into the cold, slimy ground.This is Fife. It’s the tenth of January. I’m in the Scottish Cup match. It’s now, not then. Now, not then.

“Sorry, mate.” One of the midfielders reached down. “All right?”

“Yeah, cheers.” Colin wiped the mud from his hand, then let his opponent help him to his feet. “This weather’s shite.”

“It’s fair apocalyptic. Hope one of us wins today so we don’t have to replay the match.”

Colin laughed and nodded, but as he turned away he rubbed his left side where an errant elbow had jabbed him in the fall. He could sense the void beneath the layers of skin and muscle, a void haunted by the ghosts of organs ripped out before their time.

“Let’s go, lads!” the goalkeeper shouted, his voice hoarse as he set the ball at the edge of the six-yard box for the goal kick.

Colin shook himself out of his momentary morbidity. With this ferocious tailwind, the keeper’s punt could put the Warriors in serious danger.

As he dashed down the pitch to help defend, Colin’s dread streamed away with the rain sluicing off him. His legs were swift and sturdy, powered by this heady cocktail of adrenaline and joy.

It wasn’t until this moment, feeling so alive, that he realized how dead he’d been these last few months.

* * *

The rickety standbeneath Andrew’s feet shook with every beat of the Rainbow Regiment’s new kettle drum. The Warriors fans bounced together as they sang, punching their collapsed umbrellas at the sky like swords.

He laughed to think how the atmosphere at a boggy amateur pitch could rival that of the world’s great stadia. Not even at Real Madrid’s Bernebéu had he felt such love and solidarity. Perhaps football was all he needed to climb out of these doldrums.

For the ten minutes after Colin’s near score, the ball ricocheted like a pinball near the middle of the pitch, rarely straying into either side’s danger zone. Neither team could keep possession long enough to attack, what with the rain pooling on the grass and the wind making lofted passes a dodgy proposition.

Beyond this general observation, Andrew noticed little about the game. He was laser-focused on Colin’s every move, marveling how his miraculous torso turned and twisted; how his toned legs somehow propelled him with blinding speed one moment, only to pivot with precision in the next.

Duncan’s boyfriend, Brodie Campbell, turned to Andrew and John from his seat in front of them. “Colin looks affa fine!” he said with a grin. “Really questioning the defenders out there.”

Andrew smiled back, suppressing a laugh at the lad’s attempt at pundit talk. Brodie was new to football, but he was trying.

On the pitch, Warriors fullback Jamie stole the ball from a hapless East Fife midfielder. The attack was on. Andrew swiped the rain dripping from his brows so he could follow the action.

Evan took Jamie’s pass, then dodged a pair of opponents before chipping toward Colin out in front. With a deft touch of his thigh, Colin brought down the ball outside the penalty area. He pivoted to put himself between the ball and the oncoming center-back Wilson, the one who’d fouled Duncan earlier.

Andrew gave a throat-shredding shout that blended with the shrieks of his fellow fans.

As Wilson closed in, Colin spun on his right foot and took the ball with his left, darting into the penalty area. The center-back kept pace, shrinking the space between them.

Suddenly Colin’s legs gave out. He fell, a millisecond before Wilson made contact.

Andrew covered his mouth as Colin’s body hit the ground.He’ll get back up, he told himself.Footballers fall a dozen times in a match.

Colin rolled onto his knees, arms spread wide, face full of outrage as he turned to the referee. Andrew let himself breathe again.

“Penalty!” John shrieked. “He took him down. Gie’s a penalty!”

On the pitch, Fergus approached the referee, pleading the same case as his husband.

Meanwhile Wilson was protesting his own innocence, hands to his chest. “It was a fucking dive!” Andrew heard him yell as he pointed to the place where Colin had fallen.

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